


Brain vs Brawn

by Ladycat



Series: Strange Beds [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She wanted to help? To really—Rodney shook his head. “Yes, yes, of course. I should have realized. John’s not good at being useless either.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brain vs Brawn

She was blonde. She was beautiful. Both of those were very, very good things in Rodney’s book, although she was a little lacking in the boob department—a few meals would probably help that. Of course, she’d turned her nose—well, _wrinkled_ it in a childish way—when he’d graciously offered her one of his power bars.

But still: blonde, beautiful, and her speaking voice wasn’t too bad. Nice. Kind of a pleasant, sun-bleached avatar acting as his scenery. A motivational force that would propel him to feats of genius, heroically fixing everything with his big, pulsing brain. Like a petite, smiling, perfectly blonde trophy.

Rodney was going to _kill her_.

“Do you have to swing your legs like that?”

One perfectly manicured brown eyebrow—she so dyed her hair, the little tramp—rose, and her totally inappropriate heels clicked even harder against the desk she perched on. “Like what?”

All she needed was the damned bubble-gum and she’d the worst kind of stereotype. “Like some ADD-stricken child! ‘Like what’, you know damned well _like what_. I am a very important, very busy man and I’m required to save everyone’s collective asses _again_ —”

Her snort short-circuited his rant far too effectively. “Oh, please. You want to talk Apocalypses? This doesn’t even rank up there with his snake-iness, the Mayor.”

The _what_? Rodney had dealt with undergraduates like her, the ones that spoke with that perky cadence that was half-drawl, all-whine, and used words and constructions that baffled Rodney. Although, in her defense, he was pretty sure she did it on purpose. Which might not actually be in her _defense_ , since if she was doing it intentionally, then she really was the spoiled little beautiful brat Rodney hated with a passion. “Yes, yes, let’s compare millennia-year old Wraith bent on culling Earth into the stone-ages with a small town political official. That rates up there on your Apocalypse-scale, whatever that means.”

Her response was to snicker. That, in theory, was expected—she laughed at pretty much everything he said, like he was some kind of wind-up toy for her mocking pleasures. But these snickers were tinged with a hint of fondness Rodney was shocked he was picking up on. “Actually, I'm pretty sure he was millennia-old, too, but oh, my god, you sound _just_ like Giles,” she told him, this time her smile unshadowed and beautiful, eyes bright with love—for this Giles person, clearly. “Okay, you’re way snappier and less stiff-upper-lippy about it—have you met sarcasm you didn’t immediately shake hands with?—but you have _no_ idea what I’m talking about, do you? What was it ‘I understand perhaps one word in three’?”

From behind him, the petite—were all the women part of this weird cult-like group tiny?—redhead gave a very unlady-like snort. “You mean the Wa—um, the diaries? Oh, that was ‘ _Her abuse of the English language is such that I understand only every other sentence’_.” She adopted a truly horrific British accent for the quote.

Buffy giggled. “That’s my Will! I knew you’d know what I meant. Mean. Um?”

It was clueless and adorable and _stupid_ and Rodney didn’t have time for any of that. “Enough! Both of you! You, girl with the hair, I mean, the _red_ hair, keep doing what you’re doing because you’re marginally intelligent. You, blondie, can you please, for the love of surfer dudes and all the skimpy, man-baiting bikinis you wear without shame, _stop talking_.”

There should’ve been some outrage. Rodney could _see_ that Buffy was not very pleased about the bikini comment—although, strangely, the surfer comment just made her go blank and surprised—and she wanted desperately to say something. But instead she caught the redhead’s gaze over Rodney’s shoulder, and immediately started snickering again.

Rodney knew if he turned, there’d be faces made. Faces meant to represent him.

“Okay, Buffy,” the redhead said after a moment. There was still a giggle in her voice, but she sounded resigned too. “No more taunting Doctor McKay. He really _is_ a genius, you know.”

“And I really _can_ pick up him and that desk he’s working at in one hand, and then break him _over_ that desk without chipping a nail.” Like the redhead’s words, there was a sense of fun, of easy-going playfulness, like she wasn't really threatening to shatter his spine and ruin months of arranging his desk to perfection. 

But Rodney could see the girl’s eyes—hazel, and far too old, and deadly serious. Emphasis on deadly.

For the first time, Rodney gave John’s and Ronon’s claims of her unusual strength some credence. “Fine,” he snapped. “You can beat me with your brawn, I’ll concentrate on beating the Wraith with my brain. Deal?”

She hopped off her desk, peering over his shoulder to look at the equations he was working on. “I’m not really sure about math, but I’m pretty sure that symbol is meaningless,” she said, casually pointing what was, in fact, a meaningless symbol. God dammit. “I’m not entirely without brains, Doctor McKay. And I’m pretty sure you didn’t get here without some brawn. So, yeah. Deal. Now, is there something I could maybe _help_ you with? Instead of waiting for that dred-locked guy to stop moaning so we can spar again? Because I’m not actually good at waiting before battles begin.”

She wanted to help? To really—Rodney shook his head. “Yes, yes, of course. I should have realized. John’s not good at being useless either.”

“That’d be your boyfriend, right?” Her snotty tone was going to send him _right back_ into wanting to kill her—except her hand was held out. Manicured, though the nails were short, with a single ring on the right hand, something intricate and vaguely Irish looking, with a heart that pointed back at her. Rodney grasped it. “Okay, then. Take me to your busy-work.”

“Oh, please. I leave busy-work for the _lackies_. You get to work on the weapons Zelenka’s creating from Doctor Burkle’s schematics.” It was no surprise at all when she perked right up and gave him a full, mega-watt grin. Rodney still thought she was a self-absorbed California-based Princess who needed to learn to respect the brilliant scientists - her obvious affection for the redhead aside - but now he was starting to see the reason why John had immediately taken to her.

And yeah. She really was beautiful.


End file.
